father.”
I felt my face flame with heat.
“Mr. Wheiler, I’m sure it was surprise that caused your daughter to speak so familiarly. I am, alas, not the man my father is,” he’d joked, puffing up his cheeks and swelling his chest as to mimic his father’s girth. “Or at least not yet!”
A man I easily recognized as Mr. Pullman slapped Arthur on the back and laughed heartily. “Your father does have a love of good food. Can’t say I’m not guilty of the same.” He patted his own impressive belly.
Carson chose then to step from an arched doorway and call, “Dinner is served, Miss Wheiler.”
It had taken me several moments to realize that Carson was actually speaking to me. I swallowed past the dryness in my throat and said, “Gentlemen, if you will follow me to the dining room we would be honored by your company for tonight’s modest repast.” Father had nodded his approval to me and we’d begun walking toward the formal dining room when I couldn’t stop myself from peeking back over my shoulder for another glimpse of Arthur Simpton.
And I stumbled into Mr. Pullman’s impressive girth.
“Alice, do watch where you are walking!” Father had snapped.
When he spoke I had been readying an apology for Mr. Pullman, so I saw the older man’s face as he registered the fact that my father had just called me by my dead mother’s name. His concern was palpable. “Oh, Barrett, think nothing of it! Your lovely and talented
Pullman’s voice trailed away as he and Father strode into the dining room. I’d stood there, frozen as stone, the words
“May I escort you to dinner, Miss Wheiler?”
I looked up into Arthur Simpton’s kind blue eyes. “Y-yes, please, sir,” I’d managed.
He’d offered his arm, and I placed my hand on it. Unlike my father’s, Arthur’s forearm was trim, and there was no dark mat of hair tufting out from under his cuffed dress shirt. And he was so delightfully tall!
“Don’t worry,” he’d whispered as we led the rest of the small group into the dining room. “No one except Pullman and I heard him call you Alice.”
My gaze had darted up to his.
“It was an understandable mistake,” he continued, speaking quickly and quietly for my ears only. “But I know it must have been painful for you.”
It was difficult for me to speak, so I only nodded.
“Then I will attempt to distract you from your pain.”
And a wondrous thing happened—Arthur positioned himself beside me at dinner! I was, of course, sitting to Father’s right, but his attention—for once—was utterly distracted from me by Mr. Pullman on his left and Mr. Burnham, who was sitting beside Mr. Pullman. When their discussion turned from the electricity at Central Station to the lighting of the Midway of the exposition, the architect, Mr. Frederick Law Olmsted, joined the conversation, adding even more passion to the argument. Arthur stayed out of much of the conversation. At first the other men joked that he was a poor stand-in for his gout-ridden father, but he laughed and agreed; then when they returned to their battle of words, Arthur returned his attention to me.
No one seemed to notice, not even Father, at least not after I called for the fifth bottle of our good cabernet to be opened and liberally poured—though he did send me a sharp look if I laughed at one of Arthur’s witticisms. I learned quickly to stifle my laughter and instead smile shyly at my plate.
I did look up, though, as often as I dared. I wanted to look into Arthur’s beautiful blue eyes and see the sparkle and the kindness with which they watched me.
But I did not want Father to see, nor did I want Mr. Elcott to see.
Mr. Elcott’s gaze did not have my father’s intensity, but I did find it on me often that night. It reminded me that Mrs. Elcott, as well as Camille, expected that Arthur Simpton was close to declaring his serious affections for their daughter, though in complete honesty I will admit that I did not need a reminder.
As I write this I do feel a measure of sadness, or perhaps pity is the more sincere emotion, for poor Camille. But she should not have deluded herself. The truth is the truth. That night I took nothing from her that she hadn’t attempted to first take from me.
I also took nothing that was not freely, joyfully, given.
The dinner that I had dreaded seemed to last but a fleeting moment. Too soon, Father, his face flushed and his words slurred, pushed back from the table, stood, and announced, “Let us retire to my library for brandy and cigars.”
I’d stood when Father did, and the other five men got instantly to their feet.
“Let us first have a toast,” Mr. Pullman had said. He’d lifted his mostly empty wineglass, and the rest of the men had followed suit. “To Miss Emily Wheiler for a delightful dinner. You are a credit to your mother.”
“To Miss Wheiler!” the men said, raising their glasses to me.
I am not ashamed to admit that I’d felt a rush of pride and of happiness. “Thank you, gentlemen. You are all most kind.” As they all bowed to me I managed to sneak a look at Arthur, who winked quickly and flashed a handsome, white-toothed smile at me.
“My dear, you were a picture tonight—a picture,” Father slurred. “Have brandy and cigars sent to my library.”
“Thank you, Father,” I’d said softly. “And I already arranged for George to be waiting in your library with both brandy and cigars.”
He’d taken my hand in his. His was large and moist, as it always was, and he lifted mine to his lips. “You have done well tonight. I bid you a good night, my dear.”
The other men had echoed his good-night wishes, as I hurried from the room, wiping the back of my hand on my voluminous velvet skirts. I’d felt my father’s gaze burning me the whole way and I did not dare look back, even for one last glimpse of Arthur Simpton.
I’d started toward the stairs, meaning to secret myself in my bedchamber so that I would be well out of sight when Father, thoroughly drunk, stumbled to his bed. I’d even told Mary, who was chattering nonstop about what a success I’d been, to give me just a few moments to myself, but then I’d be ready for her to come to my room and help me out of the intricacies of Mother’s gown so that I may change into my nightgown for bed.
As I consider back on it, tonight it seemed as if my body was completely in control of my actions, and my mind could do nothing except to follow its lead.
My feet had detoured around the wide staircase and I’d slipped quietly down the servants’ hall and out the rear door where my hands had lifted my mother’s skirts and I’d almost flown to the quiet bench under the willow tree that I had made my own.
Once I reached the dark security of my special place, my mind had begun to reason once again. Yes, Father should be smoking and drinking with the other men for hours, so it was logical that I could hide safely away there for most of the night. But I’d understood it would be too dangerous to stay but a few moments. What if the moment I chose to slip upstairs was the same moment Father stumbled from his library to relieve himself or to bellow for the cook to bring him something to satisfy his insatiable appetite? No. No. I would not chance that. And, of course, there was Mary. She would look for me if she didn’t find me in my bedchamber, and I did not want even Mary to discover my sanctuary.
Still, I’d breathed a deep, satisfied breath, taking in the cool night air and feeling the comfort lent to me by the concealing shadows. I’d wanted to steal just a few moments for myself—a few moments here, in my special place, to think about Arthur Simpton.
He’d shown me such special kindness! It had been so long since I’d laughed, and even though I’d had to stifle my giggles, I had still felt them! Arthur Simpton had transformed the evening I had so dreaded from a strange and frightening event to the most magical dinner I had ever experienced.
I hadn’t wanted it to end. I still do not want it to end.
